Innocent Youth: The 150th Hunger Games
by Dreamfyre Kielstra
Summary: This year's Hunger Games features one of the cruelest twists yet: the tributes are only 12 and 13. However, one innocent youth still has to win. Will they grow up quick enough to make it out alive? SYOT Open!
1. The Reading of the Card

**Welcome to the Prologue chapter! This is the introduction to my SYOT. It may not be great, but it's getting there.**

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 **Myron Schumacher, District 2, 19, Victor of the 149th Hunger Games**

It feels almost strange to have slept the entire night. Usually three or four in the morning is the hour I'll wake up sweating bullets and with an unmistakable feeling of fear in my stomach. But I was pleasantly surprised when I slept in for once. And no nightmares about her, either.

Rising from my enormous bed, I yawn loudly as I stare at the sunlight pouring through my window. It illuminates my room with a brilliant golden color, and while I would have normally been pleased by a sight like this, the sun has felt like an oppressor to me. It forces me to wake up every morning, and believe me, the last thing I want to do every day is face the world. Being a Victor is not something I would wish on anyone. But of course, for the sake of my district, I have to put on a tough face. I have to pretend like I don't see Emma every time I close my eyes. Just thinking of her is enough to cause tears to well up.

I enter my expansive master bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes are puffy and red. I can't let my family see me cry.

I turn on the faucet, adjusting the water temperature to ice-cold, and splash my face in an attempt to reduce the redness. After a while I get tired of it so I just soak a towel and press it to my eyes. I wander into the bathtub, sitting inside with a wet cloth to my face. Not my finest moment, but I've had worse mornings.

"Myron, come down!"

A familiar voice is coming from outside my bedroom, but I try to pretend not to hear it.

"Myron, if you don't come down right now, breakfast is gonna be crumbs!" My sister, Allanna, is one of the last pure things in my life at the moment. She hasn't changed. The rest, like Mom and Dad and all my friends, act as if I was above them in some way. Being treated like a normal person is good enough for me and my sister does just that. She's 21 now, and has never set foot in an Academy. Allie decided early on that the Hunger Games weren't for her. I'm glad, because I don't know what state I would be in if she weren't here.

"Coming, sis," I tell her through the door, and quickly hop out of the bathtub and glance at myself again. The redness is mostly gone, thankfully. I almost leave my room before realizing I'm just in a pair of briefs. I throw in a charcoal-colored t-shirt and some jogging pants before heading downstairs, the smell of bacon getting stronger and stronger.

"Good morning, my Victor," Mom beams from behind the kitchen counter, dishing a hearty serving of eggs and bacon onto my plate. My parents always give me the lion portions, and that's difficult when it seems like you never have an appetite.

"Morning Mom," I greet to her, staring down at the plate she hands to me. " _Danke_." I waste no time in digging into the bacon, the juicy meat tasting even more flavorful than usual. Allie joins me at the table, shoving eggs into her mouth as if she were a carnivorous wolf Mutt who hadn't seen a morsel of food in days.

"Be sure to taste the food, Al," I suggest to her, and she slows down a little, but her plate is still clean within minutes. She's probably so hungry from all her early morning horseback-riding with her boyfriend. I'm glad Allie has found someone, and that they share a common love of horses. Anyone I meet would be allured by me, the big bad Career Victor, but soon realize I'm an emotional wreck and be bitterly disappointed.

As Mom puts our plates away, Dad soon comes downstairs, rubbing his forehead.

"Have the migraines gotten better, dear?" Mom asks him as he plants himself at the table, carrying a book.

"A little," he mumbles, opening the book. "Reading's helped." My dad turns to me intently. "Are you ready for the announcement?"

"Announcement?" I question, giving Dad a sideways look.

"The announcement for the Sixth Quarter Quell," he clarifies. I kind of forgot about the Quell announcement. The fact that I will have to mentor two Careers in a few months, and the Games in general, has escaped me. I wonder what they will come up with as a cruel twist this year. They've done five other Quells, maybe they'll run out of ideas and this one won't be so bad.

"What time does it start?" Allie asks, staring at her elaborate watch.

"Noon," Dad informs her, soon migrating towards the couch, "so we'd better tune in to it now." I glance up at the wall clock. 11:44. It shouldn't be long now until President Ismene steps out onto that stony balcony. Mom and Allie plop down onto the expansive couch while I settle into my favorite leather chair.

I'll never seen a Quell Announcement, so this'll be a first. The broadcast is reviewing all previous Quarter Quells and ranked them from best to worst. Calla Flickerman put the Third Quarter Quell at the top of her list, stating that bringing back dead tributes was not only an enormous act of generosity from the Capitol, but that seeing fallen tributes battle it out for another chance of Victory was a sight to behold. In the end, Elegance Saunders from One ending up coming home with the win. She had been in a Career pack along with other Careers who had been bloodbath casualties or had otherwise placed disgracefully low. But she ended up slashing open all their throats in their sleep so there would be no competition for her. The Capitol considered it to be a "twist" in the plot, although I would have easily done the same thing if I were competing for my life for the second time.

Their little segment is suddenly interrupted by the loud blaring of the anthem, followed by President Ismene Snow stepping out onto the balcony, overlooking hundreds of thousands of Capitolites, eagerly waiting for the President to break open that envelope marked with the number 150.

"Welcome, citizens of Panem. Welcome to this, the revealing of the Sixth Quarter Quell." President Snow boldly announces, her voice booming through the square. "The Quarter Quell was created by the Gamemakers many decades ago in order to serve as a reminder of the horror of the treasonous uprising known as the Dark Days. There have been five Quarter Quells in total."

I can tell she just wants to get the recap of the Quells done and over with by how fast she is reading.

"For the First Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes that who would represent it."

"For the Second Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that 2 rebels died for every Capitol citizen, twice the number of tributes were Reaped."

"For the Third Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that the Capitol is merciful, dead tributes from previous Games were Reaped and brought back to life."

"For the Fourth Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels to that they broke the brotherly love they had with the Capitol, sibling pairs will be Reaped, regardless of gender."

"For the Fifth Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that male rebels and female rebels were both equally treasonous, twelve of the male tributes and twelve of the female tributes are to be placed in separate gender-specific arenas, with their Games occurring simultaneously. Each final survivor of those Games were to battle it out in a small arena for the title of Victor."

Finally, Snow opens up the paper for the Sixth Quell, delivered to her by a small girl.

"And now, for the Sixth Quarter Quell."

The President clears her voice before speaking in a loud, clear voice.

"For the Sixth Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that even their youngest and most innocent cannot escape the Capitol's power, the tributes are to be from ages 12 to 13."

Allie and Mom gasp in horror while Dad buries his face in his hands. Twelve and thirteen year olds? That's child's play. I'm not sure if any of them even know how to kill. I try to recall of any young academy recruits that would be remotely ready for the role of Career tribute this year, but none come to mind. They'll all still in training.

After Calla interviews some Capitol citizens and asks their reactions, I click off the TV, running my hands through my blonde hair. My sister breaks the sad silence, rising and putting her hands on her hips.

"Well, that's upsetting." Allie tells us, scowling. She then storms out, grabbing her saddle and boots. Probably going to jump onto Softy, her favorite horse and ride off into the sunset. I would rather do the same than sugarcoat the deaths of two ill-prepared children.

I went off to bed pretty early that night, mainly because I didn't have the energy to do anything else. My subconscious tortured me with a dream about Emma, again. Dreams about her have been getting less and less frequent, but they are very difficult to clear from my mind once I wake up. We were inside the cave we occupied during our Games. Emma was sitting next to me, petting the hyena Mutt that attacked us early in the Games, asking if I would always be there for her. I told her I would never leave her, and that we'll have a good life together. Emma's off-put by this, and just gives me a mean glare, telling me to stop saying that. Suddenly her calm disposition turns into a look of horror as a knife is in her chest. I know I didn't put it there, yet she is still mad at me.

"What was that for, Myron?" she asks nonchalantly, removing the blade from her chest. Emma looks down at the wound, displeased.

"Look at that stain. Wonder if it'll ever come out." she says in a monotone voice. She suddenly slumps over, quickly fading away, but the bloodied knife remains.

I wake up screaming, my fingers fumbling at the empty air. Instead of the inside of the cave, I'm back in my bedroom.

 _Damn it._

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 **Hey there, I'm Isabeline and I'm starting my first Hunger Games SYOT! If you are interested in submitting a tribute, please visit my Google Forms! You may submit up to three tributes. This chapter is pretty much the revealing of the Quarter Quell from someone other than the child-hating president of Panem, I hope it was good! Although this chapter was pretty lengthy I won't be pumping out 4,000 word chapters, I just want this entire story to be fun and stress-free. So forgive me if my writing seems poor at times, this chapter gives you a little hint at my style. Can't wait to see some tributes soon! :)**

 **P.S. Form is on my profile! Delete the spaces and you should be good to go. ;)**


	2. District 8 Intros: Madelyn and Pearl

**I have three complete pairs as of yet, so I figure I'd start with them rather than District order.**

 _Madelyn Summers, 13, District 8_

Some people may say that skipping and frolicking is for little girls, but my best friend Alissa and I don't ever want to grow up. While the other kids at school are worrying about boyfriends and girlfriends and drama, we have each other, like we have our entire lives.

I don't know where I would be without Alissa's family. Ever since Mom died in the 136th Games and Dad is a no-show, I've practically been Alissa's sister my whole life. We've even talked about her parents legally adopting me, which I am all for. We would be able to have sleepovers every night, and I would never have to worry about going back to the abusive orphanage ever again. Life could finally be perfect.

Alissa stops prancing suddenly and turns to me, still holding my hand.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"I wish we were a year older, Maddie, so we wouldn't have to worry about being Reaped right now," Alissa admits. "I wish we had more time to grow up."

"We are grown up, Allie. We're thirteen." I point out to her.

"But we act like little girls. We wouldn't last a minute in the arena if either of us got Reaped." Alissa is starting to get upset like she does when she thinks about the Hunger Games. I flash her a weary smile.

"That's if either of us _get_ Reaped. The chances are really low, even for this year," I tell her in an attempt to slow her breathing. It seems to work, because the tenseness in her hand slowly dissolves.

"You're right." Alissa says, relieved. We interlock fingers again and continue the long journey to the square.

Once they prick Alissa and I's fingers and we're led into the thirteen year old pen, the escort for District 8, dressed in a relatively modest lilac dress, walks onstage in her impossibly tall high heeled boots. She gives us a somewhat insincere smile before grabbing the microphone.

"Welcome, District 8, to the Reaping for the 150th Annual Hunger Games, the Sixth Quarter Quell." Sparse yet mandatory applause fills the somber silence of the square, and Alissa and I exchange anxious glances as a somewhat heavy breeze begins to pick up, accompanied by dark, uninviting clouds. We'll have to get home quickly before we're caught in the rain, or acid rain if we are unlucky.

The gigantic screen newly installed in the square flickers to life, showing the same video from last year, in addition to a video of the President announcing the Quell around six months ago. I can feel the nervousness rising, almost as if it were bile. I start to shake uncontrollably as I spot the escort pacing over to the girl's Reaping bowl.

She digs around for ages to find the perfect slip despite the fact that they are all the same, just the name on them of the doomed girl is different. The pile itself is significantly smaller than normal years due to the smaller Reaping pool and that there is only a maximum of two slips per girl.

Finally, she has found the right slip after an eerily long search. Just as she opens the paper to read the name, it blown out of her hand by the harsh winds.

"Well! The odds were most certainly in _her_ favor. Oh well, let's try again, shall we?" the escort sinks her hand into the bowl once more, not taking nearly as much time to find a slip.

"Madelyn Summers!" she cries out. Alissa and I both freeze in our places, unable to move. Once I finally manage to trudge my way to the stage, the whole world begins to numb. I can't even find the strength to find Alissa's gaze in the crowd.

"Time for the boys." the escort says, her voice quiet and muffled. My vision, blurry and unfocused, spots something white on the ground. It's the slip of the girl who should have been Reaped instead of me. Once I manage to clear my head and get my eyes to work again, I unfold the slip with my foot. It's the name on the slip that destroys me.

 _ALISSA HATCH_

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 _Pearl Chintz, 13, District 8_

One o'clock. Gym class, my absolute least favorite part of the day. It's not the class itself I absolutely despise. It's the fact that I have to be in a room full of sweaty boys, when I am in fact a girl.

"Nice bosoms, Chintz. Ever gonna show them to us one day?" a boy whose name I cannot remember shouts to me from across the room as I take my clothes out of my basket.

"Never, ever!" I yell back in an equally feisty tone, trying to conform and not cause any trouble. I slip away from the lockers quietly. There is no way I would ever change in front of a bunch of boys, so I slip away to my go-to place; the bathroom stalls. The only one with a working door, to be exact.

My parents say they are doing what's best for me. By making me identify as a male rather than the female I know I am, they say that it will raise my chances in the Games, that girls are weaker than boys and that they are at least raising my chances a little. So, I'm pretty much stuck this way until I turn eighteen or until I am Reaped. Personally, I would prefer the latter at this point, since I don't think I can put up with this for another five years.

After getting changed into my gym uniform, which I am swimming in due to it being a boy's size, I head out and immediately head over to the girl's locker room to wait for Poplin. Poplin knows that I truly do not like identifying as a boy. In fact, she is one of the only people who knows my secret.

Soon enough she exits out of the locker room along with a flock of girls. Poplin grins at me, and we lock arms like we always do as we walk outside to play field sports. At least, that's what the schedule said we were going to do.

It was a battle of the sexes in a game of soccer, and surprisingly, the boy's team, even though _I_ was on the boy's team. The girls kept complaining that the boys had an "unfair advantage". It confused me, because Mom and Dad always told me that a boy is tougher competition than a girl.

At lunch, Poplin and the rest of my friends discussed the Hunger Games, since the Reapings were only a week away. In conversations like these, I usually don't offer my own opinions on the subject. It's all part of blending in and being invisible, which is something I do very well.

"I think having only kids in the Games is wrong," Hayley complains, to which I nod in agreement.

"Last year's Victor is so cute!" Brooke squeals, gushing over a picture she is holding of him.

"Yes, he is so cute!" I say in an equally high pitched voice. That's pretty much what my day consists of. Agreeing with people, mimicking them, blending in, not really existing. I finally got tired of repeating others so I just poked at my mashed potatoes with a fork, zoning out my friend's conversations.

I'm kind of lucky no one is truly bothered by my secret, since they don't quite know I'm faking it all and I don't really want to be a boy at all. I've gotten picked on a few times, as one could expect, but the insults have pretty much stopped ever since Hayley asked her boyfriend to "take care" of the boy who called me a freak. That doesn't mean the worst of this is over, however.

After my long walk home from school, to which I was flanked by a raccoon, I find my parents in the kitchen, already cooking dinner.

"Hello, Pearl. How was school?" Mom asks me, dishing me a steaming bowl of soup.

"Some boy in the locker room asked to see my... uh, bosoms," I sheepishly whisper. Mom and Dad give me a concerned stare.

"This is what's best for you, Pearl. Statistics show that males have a stronger chance in the Games. Look at last year's Games. The final two were both boys." Dad lectures.

 _But the year before, the final_ four _were all girls. And Arielle, a smart, strong, capable girl won._

I know I'm a smart, strong, capable girl. Why can't I win by just being myself?

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 **Clarification: Madelyn and Pearl are both girls, but Pearl's parents make her identify as a boy to increase her chances in the Games, just in case it was still confusing. More tributes to come soon, once I get more pairs.**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**


	3. District 12 Intros: Bell and Alex

_Bell Collier, 12, District 12_

Everyone in this room with me is probably not aware of the fact that I even exist. Not existing, being invisible, and all around elusiveness is one of my only talents. That's why Butterfly recruited me to the Wolves. Ever since Peacekeeper presence increased in the district around a year ago, we have had a new enemy, other than our rival gang, the Miners. The law. The gangs were usually allowed to do their business in peace, but lately violence has greatly risen. Butterfly said that it's a message to the Capitol to leave us alone, that Twelve does not want to be 'gentrified'. I hope the Capitol gets that message, because it's a little disheartening to find out that many innocent people in the district with Capitol ties are mysteriously vanishing.

Around every week or so I'm sent on a mission by Butterfly. It can range from getting juicy information to stealing bits of food or even valuable things she needs. All of them make my heart beat out of my chest just thinking about them. Sometimes, if I'm unlucky, I get caught and simply reprimanded, because the Peacekeepers don't know I'm a Wolf. What I'm truly afraid of is not the law but Butterfly's reaction if I fail. Beatings are almost always ensured.

Butterfly had instructed me this week to listen in on a Miners meeting. I hate undercover missions; I have nightmares that my cover gets blown and I'm fed to real wolves or thrown into one of the many abandoned mining tunnels to starve. Which, in a way, is probably not far off from my punishment for being caught spying.

I gave up trying to get a good view of the gang leader, whose name is apparently Fischer, ages ago. I've instead settled with blending in with the wallpaper in the corner of the room, trying to listen to her words above the sound of my growling stomach.

"Those Capitol pigs cut off our food supply in the Seam chapter. We had been sending Marley to collect food supplies but her cover was blown." Fischer points to a picture of a girl who I am assuming is Marley, one of the many pictures crowding the wall. She dramatically crosses out her picture with red marker.

"As far as I know, she's off to the Capitol to become an Avox." Fischer tells the Miners.

Hushed but concerned chatter fills the small underground room, and Fischer slinks a throwing knife into the back wall, mere inches from my face.

"Quiet!"

The crowd of Miners goes eerily silent.

"We can't let the Wolves know that we are running out of food in the Seam. Someone new has to go undercover and sign up for the tesserae under a new name. It's risky if you're caught, but anyone willing to do it is in for a promotion."

Everyone in the room looks around at each other, probably playing a game of Not-It regarding who has to do this dirty work. My heart sinks when I see a finger pointed at a young girl who looks around my age.

"How about this girl? Look how young she is! She looks almost Marley's age." A stocky man standing next to her suddenly yanks her wrist, and she begins to whimper.

"Who is that girl? I don't recognize her." Fischer asks stepping off of the stage and walking towards her.

"What's your name?" she asks the girl harshly.

"Leslie," she answers in a voice barely audible. She is quickly scooped up by Fischer and brought to the front of the room onto the small stage.

The crowd begins to cheer, and that's when I've decided that I've had enough. I silently slip out of the room, shaken by what I just saw. A poor little girl was sacrificed,

Once I report back to Butterfly, she actually smiles for once upon seeing me. I eye her colorful tattoo depicting a butterfly. I wonder if she chose the gang name first or the tattoo first.

"Report, Bell."

"Well, a-apparently the Miners are running out of food, because their old food provider in the Seam was caught. The new food provider is named Leslie," I tell her shakily. Butterfly ponders for a moment before bursting into laughter.

" _We_ actually killed their old provider, Marley. I'm glad they think the Capitol caught her. It's nice to know that they won't blame everything on us, for once, so they won't kill our members as much." Butterfly paces the small wooden cabin, staring out of a murky window.

"We're planning on starving them out, so they can't-" Butterfly suddenly cuts herself off, and shoots me a mean glare as is she just noticed I was in the room.

"You can go." As I leave, Butterfly whistles at me. I turn around, and without warning she throws me a bag containing what I hope is food.

"For your troubles." she tells me. I dash out of the room, holding the precious cargo as if it were a baby. As soon as I'm out of sight from the other Wolves gathered near the river camp, I tear open the bag, which carries a loaf of bread and some kind of spread that smells fishy, but looks good enough to me. Not that I would have cared about the taste anyway; both food items are gone within a minute.

I smile from ear to ear as I notice that the aggressive growling in my stomach is gone, too. It'll be back before long.

* * *

 _Alexander Iaso, 12, District 12_

"Look closely, Alex. You see how that person's ribs are sticking out in the book?" Mom drags her finger to a picture of a small child, coated in coal dust and with a skinny, skeletal frame. I nod slowly.

"That doesn't mean they are fit. In fact, that's a sign of malnutrition."

"What's malnutrition?" I ask curiously. I know what nutrition means, but not the 'mal' part.

"It's when the body doesn't get enough nutrients, so it begins to eat _itself._ That's why that girl is so skinny, because her body is eating all of her fat, which we all need."

"Does it hurt?" I think I already know the answer to that, because based on my years of watching the Games, starvation does not look pleasant. At all.

"Probably worse than anything in the world." Mom turns the page, and it shows a plate with several food items on it. The wing of a bird, an orange, a slice of bread, celery stalks, and a glass of milk.

"This is we should eat every day so we can stay healthy and not become sick as easily." Mom tells me.

"But I don't like celery," I admit, and Mom laughs.

"Not these foods specifically. Just these _kinds_ of foods. Like, instead of celery, you could have a carrot. Or instead of an orange, you could have an apple." Mom retrieves a shiny red apple from the bowl of fruit in the kitchen, sitting back onto the couch with the apple in her hand.

"I've been in the medical field for years now, and I've learned an old-world saying that used to be popular among us doctors." Suddenly she tosses the apple into the air, and it lands back into her palm. Mom takes a huge bite out of it, grinning.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away!" she says gleefully. I chuckle slightly, but I don't really understand the phrase. Surely just an apple can't keep you healthy enough to not visit the doctor. Mom gets patients with broken bones, terminal illnesses, and deadly infections. I don't think just eating an apple could have prevented any of that.

Mom closes the book and sets it on a shelf in our kitchen, returning to the bubbling pot on the stove. Ever since construction started on the part of District 12 that Mom calls the Seam, strange men and women have been going from house to house delivering canned goods. One day I was home alone, as Mom had an emergency situation in another part of the district that she did not want me to see.

While I was reading a book on how to properly wrap an animal bite a heard a knock at the door. A tall lady holding a box of food handed me the box without hesitation and chanted a phrase that is now plastered on almost every storefront in the district.

"May the Capitol grace you with its mercy."

Mom says its a good thing, now that she will not have to worry about treating patients who are too far gone in the clutches of starvation. She told me that even the sicknesses she has been treating lately are no worse than the flu, that its mostly injuries that send people to her clinic. As of late, a bunch of younger patients, probably ranging from my age to Mom's age, have been flocking to her, blaming their wounds on the gangs that have been roaming Twelve's streets for as long as anyone can remember.

As Mom dishes me a bowl of steaming breakfast soup, I can feel my appetite instantly vanish. Today is my first Reaping, and while a twelve-year old would normally not be to worried since their name is only in the bowl once, the odds are not in the favor of any twelve or thirteen year-old. For all I know, this breakfast could be my last at home.

"Alexander, are you alright?"

My paranoid thoughts are interrupted by my Mom's concerned voice, and she gives me a sympathetic smile open noticing the fear and sadness in my posture.

"Don't worry about it, kiddo. I know you aren't going to get Reaped," Mom assures me.

"How do you know?" I ask Mom, averting my gaze from the table.

"I just know. Mother's intuition." She motions at my bowl, silently telling me to at least take one bite. I slurp small spoonfuls at a time, my stomach feeling like its filled with lead bricks.

After we finish, Mom hands me my Reaping outfit, a light blue vest with a white shirt. Mom herself is wearing a deep green dress, which she calls her ivy dress. Fitting, since her name is Ivy. She is called Ivy or Nurse Ivy all the time when I accompany her at work. It's a little strange to hear your parent be called by a different name when I've only called her one thing my whole life.

As soon as we reach the square Mom says goodbye to me, hugging me tightly.

"You can come with me to go visit some patients after the Reaping and keep them company. How does that sound?" she offers. I look up at her and nod slowly, and as soon as it becomes clear that my somber mood can't really be lifted at the moment Mom gives me another kiss on my forehead and speeds off to the spectator section.

The lines for Reaping identification are much shorter than usual, with any kids older than fourteen heading to their pens straight away. It's also much more chatty than usual; normally one wouldn't really want to engage in small talk during an event like this, but a lot of kids this year have nothing to worry about. Not me.

After my finger is poked and I'm shooed off into the twelve year old section I wait silently for the escort to sentence two of us to our certain doom.

 _Please don't be me, please don't be me..._

After the escort lady chooses some girl named Bella, she heads over to the male's bowl. Her claw-like fingernails dig around before she pulls out a pristine slip. She rips it open without hesitation.

"Alexander Iaso!"

Even though I am a nearly a teenager, nothing could stop the tears from forming.

* * *

 **I was supposed to post this yesterday but I decided to watch the Super Bowl instead. That was a mistake.**

 **Thank you for reading, please review!**


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